


Firestorm

by Hesesols



Series: Eclipse [22]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Angry Sex, Dorks in Love, F/M, They are both such tsuns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesesols/pseuds/Hesesols
Summary: Day4of IR week: Incendiary devices- hearts too full of fire, fingers on triggers a little too quick to stir. Of picking fights over nothing, they are both equally guilty.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Eclipse [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757437
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35
Collections: Ichiruki week





	Firestorm

.

It's a little too easy sometimes to pick a fight with him, to start something with just a twitch of her lips and a careless remark thrown over the shoulder. She's armed with a tongue that's too sharp for her own good, teeth that do more harm than good in the heat of the moment; and Ichigo has a temper- a quickness to flare, an unwillingness to let things go.

He's too stubborn for his own good and she's too proud, probably just as bad at standing down from his challenges. For as much as she accuses him of being the one to start things, they both know that she's equally, if not more, guilty.

This is the calm before the storm, the stare-down.

The static gathers, warm air rising, tension running high— forces of nature larger than life.

At a moment's notice, they'll be at each other's throats, arguing about something someone had said the day before or about something that had happened the last time someone brought up a particular incident. They'll start calling each other names and it will all spiral downwards from there.

Rukia knows the signs intimately well, right down to the bob of his Adam's apple before his breath hitches.

Heat pulses steadily between them- the sort that is shimmering just below ignition point as their gaze level against each other. Amber eyes dart to the open neckline of her dress, collar bones exposed and there she is, hawk-eyed, raring to go, watching him watching her, bated breath and all.

The fuel- ire, annoyance, high strung emotions that leave them gasping for more, _hah!-_ she scoffs. Of that they're never short of. It's almost an art- the way they can turn a conversation about strawberries or something about his bangs and how he needs a haircut before he turns into caveman 2.0 into something else entirely.

Stupid inconsequential things so far beneath their notice it's laughable but one teasing remark easily turns into two and lends itself into something else at her expense- her height for one, her artistic skill the other favourite. His smirk grates a little too much- offending her sensibilities, setting her on the edge. He can be just _so_ smug sometimes that all she wants to do is to reach up and wipe that _insufferable_ look off his face!

With the abundance of oxygen around them, it's a miracle that they haven't set their clothes on fire just by being in the vicinity of each other.

Oxygen, heat, fuel- they have all the ingredients they would ever need to start a fire- molten, all-consuming, red-hot and burning.

A look is sometimes all it takes for the world to catch fire, smoulder and burn.

This time it's definitely on him, Rukia thinks, he shouldn't have just left the empty milk carton inside the fridge. What sort of animal does that?

She runs her tongue across his cut lips, tasting the iron from the wound. She doesn't regret it, she thinks as her fingers rake his back. The angry hiss that she swallows from him as her tongue dips into his wet mouth, the way his hands mould her to him, bruises sure to form in the morning after.

 _This_ \- this heat between them; it always comes back to this.

Three minutes into their heated argument and their bodies are pressed tight against each other, tongues colliding, teeth scraping against too warm skin. Neither caring where their clothes end up as they commandeer and claim ownership over the space on the closest horizontal surface, trying to make sense of something that's all passion and instinct.

Couches, beds, kitchen counter tops- nothing is sacred. There is nothing broken that can't be replaced, nothing that can't be cleaned or thrown out in the aftermath.

Nothing matters beyond this.

She huffs. Frustration is almost always a possibility when he takes too long with her clothes.

There is a rip in the side of her new dress as the skirt is pushed up a little too roughly and the front of it pulled low. A girl has her needs and he is taking _way_ too long with the bra clasp. Miffed, she makes a sound at the back of her throat.

Rukia tugs a little too harshly against his hair and earns a shallow nip on her collar bone in retaliation.

With a forceful tug, Ichigo very nearly rips her bra apart before she slaps his hands away and takes care of the issue herself.

At the tip of her tongue, a retort is already forming- something snide about how out of practice he is but he saves himself from further embarrassment when his tongue laps and eagerly takes a straining nipple, enveloping it in the wet heat of his mouth and suckles.

Rukia chokes. More so when clever fingers leave their perch on her inner thigh and dip low into her slick.

Ichigo- he'll be the death of her someday.

He knows all the right places to touch, the right way to crook his fingers just _so_ and with a warm exhale of his against her, she surrenders- giving in to the heat, the pleasant way it burns and flares just beneath her skin, the fire that gathers and pools in between her legs.

Desire- the way her eyes meet his, pupils wide and there he is mirrored in her eyes- bare-chested, scarred and terrible, beautiful beyond words. She reaches for him, tugging him close.

Her hand presses against the side of his face, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers as he leans into her touch, kissing the pulse on her wrist- teeth scrapping lightly against it before he goes back to work, pressing kisses, love bites- animalistic growls as he pins her down and explores her slickness with fingers still pumping.

She feels dizzy. The back of her head hits the wooden surface with a dull thud. Maybe it's what making her stupid- indulgent in this voracious need for skin-to-skin that borders on mindless; there's something to be said about the dysfunctionality of their relationship here.

They are both incapable of ending their disagreements like proper adults. Words- they fall short when all she wants to do is shout and the emotions from her bleed into him, so he responds to them the only way he knows how—

.

_Fire, fire, fire._

_._

What a lovely way to burn.

Ichigo's smirk is firm in the press of his lips against her flushed skin that has her shuddering, body pliant as he spreads her open on the dining table.

Rukia sighs, sliding a hand deep into his hair, urging him to go deeper.

Is there a word to describe this fatal attraction between them- where every heated encounter will turn into a play for the horizontal tango?

The dynamics of their angry make-out session and hate sex routine is ritualistic. Every argument somehow has the tendency to escalate into this: him between her legs and her being laid out on some type of furniture, skin bumped and bruised, in the throes of passion so deep that it hurts to even think.

.

_Ah!_

_._

There's a sharp tug on her hair that snaps her back into reality.

.

 _Pay attention_.

.

Golden eyes seem to say as they burn against hers. She is drawn to the sight. The cock in his hand is thick, red and angry and her mouth goes dry. She leans back up on her elbows, body trembling as he coats it in her slickness, spreading her legs further apart.

The stare- she holds it only for a second longer before her back arches, eyes rolling to the back of her head at the feel of him.

He slides into her warmth, grunting at the familiarity of it all- the velvety grip of her walls that seem to suck and pull at him until he's buried to the hilt in her. Her toes curl at the fullness.

Every inch of him is taken in greedily and she is screaming, her legs shaking, heels digging into his back, barely coherent as he fucks into her. His nails break skin as they grab at her hips, a torturing rhythm in his thrusts that sends the table underneath them creaking.

Each roll of his hip draws a curse from her writhing underneath him. She _hates_ how he uses his height and strength to his advantage, throwing her legs over his shoulders, barely skipping a beat before he's ploughing into her again- deeper, faster, determined to leave her slack-jawed and speechless.

Rukia will never stand for it based on principles alone, hell-bent on giving as good as she gets. She is still angry- still so _mad_ at him but this new angle—

The way he suddenly lifts her legs up, crossing them and fucks into her—

She moans. It's enough to make her see stars.

What happens between them next is an explosion- white hot desires that burns supernova hot and leaves them both shuddering and messy. Laws of physics are meant to be obeyed and in the aftermath, equilibrium is met and energy conserved.

All is forgiven as they collapse, his weight settling over her; foreheads touching, beads of sweat slithering down their cooling bodies as he slips out of her.

She whimpers at the sudden hollowness, the loss of contact. But it is for the best. The burning in their veins- the all-consuming heat dims and cools to something more manageable under their skin, contained for the moment as they both regain their sanity, picking up discarded clothing like reasonable adults, eyes steadfastly avoiding each other as they tug and pull their wrinkled and ruined clothing back into place.

Rukia mourns the loss of her new dress.

"You ruined it!" she snips at him, eying the tear, frown deepening when he shrugs, seemingly unapologetic.

"So? I probably have bald spots from how hard you've been tugging at my hair, _Jesus_ —" his fingers touch his bloodied lip "—what are you, Rukia? Some sort of animal? I still can't believe you _bit me!"_

"W-Well you started it!"

" _Sure I did,_ " he drawls sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

She huffs, sticks her tongue out and makes a face at him.

But deep down inside, she knows.

She knows. What they have with each other—

She wouldn't have it any other way.

She loves him.

Especially when barely a minute later, she feels a brush of his fingers on her elbow- his voice is uncharacteristically soft as he nudges at her, sincere as he says, "I'm sorry."

A gush of warmth and guilt floods her. They both know she is equally in the wrong, just as bad and childish as he is for responding and acting the way she did. Ichigo and her, like a volcano and a tornado, both are frightful in their intensities, unyielding and stubborn- forces of destruction powerful enough to tear the world apart in their rage.

But he is always the first to apologize. He is always the first to bend.

Rukia chokes, her voice embarrassingly thick as she feels tears pricking at her eyes.

"I-Idiot," she wraps her arms around him, hiding her face in the dark green sweater he has on so he doesn't see them, "I'm sorry too."

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: When a tornado meets a volcano
> 
> I wanted to do hate sex. My brain won't let me after day 3. Please enjoy this silly piece of tsun-dorks in love.


End file.
